


The Art of Conversation

by icarus_chained



Category: Blake's 7, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, Crossover, F/M, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While two ships are washed up out of a dimension warp beside each other, Seven and Avon find a conversation partner. Tom, Harry and Vila take it upon themselves to intervene</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Older fic, but I am fond of it

Seven regarded the man at the corner table curiously. One of the strangers from the dimension-warped ship, he appeared intent on his task, to the exclusion of everything else. Since that task appeared to involve an extensive spread of delicate parts covering most of the table, perhaps his focus was necessary.

"Excuse me, do you require assistance?" she asked, a touch interrogatively. The man looked up from the innards of the datapadd he'd been cannibalising with a mildly long-suffering expression. 

"No," he answered, his tone aloof and vaguely condescending. "Do I appear to?"

Seven raised her eyebrows, shifting her stance slightly as she looked pointedly at the components littered across the table."Generally speaking, datapadds do not require manual deconstruction in order to access faults." His mouth twitched slightly at that. "However, as your actions appear to be methodical in nature, I concluded that you are not attempting to destroy it, but to examine it. This would suggest that the technology is unfamiliar to you, so I have attempted to offer you my assistance, in order to avoid the necessity of further destroying a piece of equipment."

The man smiled more fully. "I see. A logical conclusion. I can appreciate your reasoning." Seven acknowledged that with a slight nod. "However, you need not be concerned. The technology may be unfamiliar, but I have memorised every step I have taken, and am perfectly capable of rebuilding your equipment. The circuitry is smaller than I am used to, and the powering is unfamiliar, but it is nothing beyond my capabilities."

Seven frowned slightly. "You are a crewmember from the alien ship, are you not?"

He did not pause as he carefully removed one of the circuit relays from the remains of the padd, but a sense of watchful stillness came over him as he nodded. Seven, still uncertain with the many forms of body language used in social interaction, nevertheless recognised the warning, and shifted stance to accomodate defense against an aggressive move. Curiously, though, she did not expect one from him, and couldn't quite explain why.

He laid the component down with some precision in a cluster of similar parts, and turned to face her more fully, an appraising expression on his face. There was a flicker of interest as he registered the remains of her Borg implants, but none of the fear or revulsion that she often encountered when newcomers realised what she was. His impassive features gave very little away. 

"Kerr Avon," he said, abruptly, and held out a hand. Seven tilted her head for a fraction of a second, then reciprocated.

"Seven of Nine." Again, she caught a flicker of interest. He refrained from commenting for the moment, though, and merely gestured to the next seat. She nodded her thanks, and seated herself, noting that he immediately went back to his examination of the padd.

"I should inform you," he started as he carefully slid a small tool underneath the seal of the next component, without looking at her at all, "that I am rarely disposed to answering questions from interfering strangers." His tone was dry, and tinged with vague annoyance. "However, as you appear to be somewhat competent, I see no reason why we cannot have a discussion." He sent her a querying glance, and she shrugged her assent. That twitch of a smile reappeared briefly, and he went back to his work.

"You are not with your companions," she opened. "As you are among strangers, would it not be more efficient to remain together?" Avon smirked.

"Under normal circumstances, I would agree. However, as we have been _assured_ of your lack of aggression towards us, and your intentions to aid us, which our fearless leader has apparently accepted, I see no reason to accompany the others on their explorations of your rather divertingly large vessel. I am quite sure that someone will contact me should circumstances change, one way or another."

Seven nodded, accepting that, and taking from his sarcastic tone that he was not interested in further discussion of the subject. She nodded at the tool on his hand. "And this? Do you have a purpose, or is this a ... hobby?" As leisure was still a concept she was experiencing difficulty with, she wondered if the question had been appropriate, but it seemed to pose him no difficulty.

"I am attempting to understand the basis of your technology. I have examined the information your computers have on the basics, and I am conducting a practical experiment. Rather than attempting to tackle some of the larger and complex computers, I reasoned that something small and relatively unimportant, such as this, would be preferable for experimentation. Once I have learned how the circuitry and power interact on such a level, I can move on to understanding the more complex interactions in your other technology."

Seven nodded approvingly. "An efficient course of action." She understood the desire to appropriate necessary information when in an unfamiliar situation, and appreciated his practicality. 

He smiled slightly again, still not looking at her. "Thank you. Logic and efficiency would appear to be attributes you value. That is rare, where I come from." He glanced at her, with an expression she recognised as wry humour. "And, therefore, to be welcomed wherever I find it."

She inclined her head at the compliment, rather pleasantly surprised. "It is not often appreciated. Most people appear to value instinct and emotion more highly. I am not completely accustomed to that yet. It can be ... disconcerting, at times."

"Not to mention annoying," he commiserated. "Especially when a situation that clearly requires a logical approach is mishandled due to excess emotion. It is distressing to have to deal with a problem all over again when a little thought would have eliminated it the first time around."

She smiled at the obvious annoyance in his voice. "There are benefits to a more complex, emotional society, though," she allowed. "Benefits I have come to appreciate since coming here. The opportunity for individuality being one." She frowned suddenly, uncertain why she admitted that to a stranger. Perhaps it was merely that he had not commented at all on her obvious Borg attributes, an unusual occurance.

He had turned to look at her appraisingly, his eyes lingering on her implants for a moment. She stilled uncomfortably, and he noticed. Raising a hand cautiously towards her face, he asked. 

"May I?" She nodded stiffly.

He sat forward in his seat, gaze curious and intense as his fingers gently traced the circuitry at her eye and ear. Seven felt an abrupt shiver of something she half recognised as nervousness, and something else. She frowned again, not used to being bothered by physical proximity. Avon, perhaps recognising her discomfort, perhaps simply having finished his examination, sat back, a slightly apologetic smile on his face.

"Fascinating," he murmured. "Very complex for an implant of its size. Though I doubt very much if I would want to know its purpose." She shook her head. Few people would. He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement, then leant back.

"I will apologise for that," he offered. "I do not make a habit of apologising for much, but perhaps that was unnecessary of me. Computers of all kinds fascinate me, to the degree that I have been called a machine myself for appearing to prefer their company to that of most people. I'm afraid I allowed myself to get carried away."

Seven shook her head. "I was not inconvenienced. Do you?"

He frowned. "Do I what?"

"Prefer the company of machines?"

He stilled, and a glimmer of threat reappeared in his posture. "At times. However, I am not, to my knowedge, one of them."

She stiffened in return. "I did not intend to imply that you were. I apologise for insulting you."

He relaxed slightly again, and she felt free to continue. "If it is any consolation, I am at least part machine." Interest reappeared in his gaze, and with it some measure of openness. "All the Borg are. It is what identifies them. No matter what the original species, all Borg are identified by the integration of technology into their physical structure, and the assimilation into the mind of the Collective."

A degree of sympathy made its way into his voice as he replied. "Hence the value of individuality in this complex, emotional society." She nodded. "Understandable. Individuality, an identity and purpose of your own, are things to be valued. Perhaps that is what drove us to become what we are. In our universe, the Federation is in many ways as restrictive to individuality as this 'Collective'. Things appear to be somewhat different here."

Seven nodded. "From the briefing, I would agree that the Federation in your universe is a far different entity to the one in ours."

Avon smiled bitterly. "Be thankful."

A pall of uneasiness fell, and Seven couldn't think of anything appropriate to say. Avon, for his part, seemed intent on returning to his investigation, when a new voice joined in. Tom Paris appeared at Avon's shoulder, his bearing decidedly antagonistic. "Everything alright over here?" he asked belligerently.

Avon stiffened, half turning to give the newcomer a look laden with contempt. He glanced at Seven, registered her surprise at the intrusion, and turned back to Paris. "It was," he drawled smoothly, and Paris bristled. 

"Yeah. I'm sure," he shot back, then turned to Seven. "You okay, Seven?" She blinked, surprised, and nodded. "You sure? Looked as if this conversation got a little nasty after he felt you up." He turned the full force of a disapproving glare on Avon, who smiled coldly and shook his head in disappointment.

"I am not familiar with customs here, but where I come from it is considered ill-mannered to look in uninvited on other people's conversations," he said softly.

Paris stared down at him. "Yeah?" he replied, equally soft. "Well, around here, it's considered 'ill-mannered' to come on board our ship and start harrassing our people. We don't like it."

Avon looked at him for a moment, then slowly stood, coming in close to stand almost chest to chest with Paris. "And I suppose you are going to exercise that displeasure, are you?" he challenged, contempt once again in his tone. Paris grinned sharply, glancing over his shoulder at Harry Kim, who stood guard behind him. Avon registered his presence with a flick of his eyes.

"You're damn right I am," Paris agreed, with brittle anticipation, and Seven decided that now was probably a good time to intervene.

"Lt. Paris," she commanded coolly, and he turned in surprise. "Kerr Avon was not harrassing me. We simply reached an uncomfortable topic of conversation. Neither did he 'feel me up'. He was merely examining my implants, with my permission." She leveled a cool stare at him, and he stepped back, sheepishly. Avon watched him with amusement, inclining his head slightly in her direction.

"Well, you shouldn't let him," Paris attempted to recover. "You don't have to indulge this creep's morbid curiosity if you don't want to, Seven, and I know you weren't comfortable."

She opened her mouth to reply, but Avon's smooth drawl cut in first. "I hardly see anything morbid about it. I am sure you are often drawn to examine a woman's eyes, or hair, or," with a contemptuous sneer, "other areas. It is hardly a crime, although I am certain you have recieved numerous indictations of female displeasure because of it."

Paris stiffened, and turned to snap back, but Seven was compelled to ask a question first. "You think the situations are comparable?"

Avon looked at her, that small smile lurking on his face. "Why not? It is part of you, and there is a certain ... asthetic, undeniably. Intricate, complex. I would say it suits you. And if no-one else regards it that way, then I would say it is because any degree of complexity is rather beyond most of them." Said with a sidelong glance at Paris, who glowered.

"Now, hold on a minute ..." he growled, only to be interupted again.

"I see you're making friends as usual, Avon," laughed the small, rather nervous-looking man who appeared behind him. Avon closed his eyes in exasperation for a moment.

"And you are being a nuisance, Vila. As usual." His dry tone made little dent in his companion's aplomb.

"Fighting over a girl, though? That's not your usual style. No offense, pretty lady," he shot her a disarming grin. "I'm sure you're well worth fighting for. It's just that Avon has never been all that interested, as far as I've seen. Although," and his gaze flicked up to her implants, "I guess maybe you're his type."

Paris stiffened angrily, and Seven drew herself up coolly. Avon sighed. "Your tact, Vila, is as apparent as your intelligence, yet again. It is a constant surprise to me that you have managed to survive thus far as relatively unscathed as you are."

Vila shrugged cheerfully. "Just lucky, I guess. Not to mentioned talented. And I wouldn't say you're doing all that well on the survival scheme yourself, if present climate is anything to go by." Avon raised a sardonic eyebrow at that, glanced at the impressive glower building on Paris' face, and tipped his head slightly in wry acknowledgement.

"Indeed. I do seem to be making friends rather rapidly, don't I?" The edges of his eyes creased in amusement. "In my defense, though, your honour, I feel I should point out that I did not start this ... disturbance."

Vila grinned, and threw a companionable arm over Avon's shoulder. The darker man stiffened, and glanced pointedly at the offending limb, but Vila paid no heed, and Avon subsided with a long-suffering expression. Seeing he wasn't about to be eviscerated, Vila continued.

"See, Avon old pal, your problem is that you don't know when to shut up."

One incredulous eyebrow crept upwards at that. "And you, of course, have no such problem?" Avon's tone was edging back towards dangerous. 

"'Course not! I always shut up when someone's going to hit me!" Vila exclaimed. "See, what you did wrong was, you should've left when he started challenging you."

"I see." By his tone, whatever it was he saw, it was not what Vila was trying to tell him.

"Yep. You shouldn't have stood up to him, especially since he had back up! A man could get beaten up, doing a stupid thing like that. And anyway, you're on his turf. When the military, or security, or whatever it is they have 'round here, show up, it won't matter who started it, they'll only believe him, and then you get imprisoned and beaten up twice in one day! I mean, it's hardly worth it, no matter how drop-dead gorgeous she is." At this, the wiry little man turned to her and shrugged apologetically. "No offense."

Seven blinked. "None taken."

"Now hang on a minute," Paris protested, hands coming up in a half-aborted gesture of peace. "We don't beat people up, or imprison them, for having a row in the bar! If you could prove I was in the wrong, which, by the way, I'm not, then the captain would listen!"

Avon and Vila stared at him incredulously. "Yes," Avon murmured slowly. "Of course." By which he apparently meant that he didn't believe a word of it. "You may have a point, Vila. Perhaps I should use my time to explore, after all. I wouldn't lay very good odds on Blake being inclined to help should anything ... untoward ... happen to either of us."

Vila snorted. "Given that it would obviously be our fault? Not likely. I mean, taking our side against the forces of oppression, sure. But this is a _bar fight_. With one hell of a woman involved. _Of course_ it's our fault." 

"Indeed," Avon smirked, and turned to offer her a sweeping bow that was surprisingly sincere, even with his dark expression. "I apologise for bothering you, Seven of Nine. I had no idea these gentlemen already had a claim on your interests and affections, or I would not have troubled you with my conversation. Please accept my apologies."

Vila, grinning evily, nudged him in the direction of a badly flustered Paris, and a Harry Kim who was rapidly turning a very unflattering shade, both of them suddenly shaking their heads in obvious denial. "What about apologising to these 'two gentleman', Avon? You did intrude, after all."

Seven may not have had much experience with social interaction, but even she could see that the two strangers were anything but apologetic, and in all likelihood were deliberately trying to fluster Paris and Kim. She also knew that once they got over their embarrassment, the two Voyager men would realise that, and things would probably become distinctly unpleasant. And, she realised with some surprise, she didn't want that.

Wondering slightly at her rare urge to be duplicitous, she joined in. "I was not aware of any claim on their part," she observed neutrally, raising her eyebrows at them. Paris flushed furiously, and Kim looked like all he wanted in the universe at that point was to be _anywhere_ else, at all, up to and including a nice, quite, airless void. Vila grinned collusively, and for a moment Seven caught a flicker of raw appreciation in Avon's face. She blinked as a sensation, the same that had caught her when his fingers traced over her eyebrow, shivered up through her.

"No, no," Paris shook his head. "We never meant it that way, Seven. I mean, if you want to ... uh, if you want to talk with someone ..." She tilted her head at him, and he faltered, blushing. "We just thought you were being bothered, Seven, that's all. We didn't mean to be the ones doing the bothering."

Seven nodded. "I was not bothered. Of course, I was not the one threatened with violence." 

At this, Paris's head came up from where he'd been studiously examining his shoes, and Seven wondered briefly if she'd said something wrong. Falsehood did not come easily to her. 

"Now wait a minute! You're not suggesting that we should apologise to _him_ , are you?" There was enough obvious offense in his tone to let her know this was a genuine problem for him, and she paused uncertainly. At which point Vila cut in.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, if I was you," he suggested amiably, draping his companionable arm back over Avon's shoulders. "It was just getting in trouble with your security, or whatever you have, that worried us. You can threaten Avon all you like, and it wouldn't make any difference."

Avon raised a cool eyebrow as he turned his head to favour Vila with a bright smile. "Oh, they can, can they?"

Vila shrugged, which, with his arm still around his darker companion's shoulders, caused an odd ripple of sympathetic motion in Avon. "Sure. We both know you never bother about threats, unless they're of a more ... _personal_ nature."

Paris blinked. "What's that meant to mean?" he spluttered.

"Indeed," Avon continued. "What _is_ that meant to mean, Vila?" 

"Oh, nothing. Just that for a good-looking man, you got by on the London without too many problems. I mean, no-one bothered me, but that's just because I'm naturally likable, and ..."

"And not such a good-looking man?" Avon smiled.

"Hmpf! _Anyway_ , it just occurs to me that the only threat you seem to act pre-emptively on is _hardly_ the kind of threat these two boys are likely to make. I mean, I sorta doubt they're interested in your charms, eh?"

Avon stared at him, then turned to raise an inquiring eyebrow at the Voyager pair, who simulaneously turned red and looked away. Seven frowned as they ceded the floor, with some lack of grace, recognising that they were beaten. She turned the frown on the apparently victorious strangers.

Vila, noting that, disentangled himself from Avon. "Well, that went well," he extemporised, waving a placating hand in her general direction. "I'm just ... gonna get myself something to drink, Avon. See some more of this fabulous ship of yours, pretty lady. Don't mind me. I was just leaving. Why don't you two get back to whatever you were discussing? Looked pretty interesting and ..."

He backed away, muttering as he went, and Seven turned her attention back to her original companion, who was watching Vila's retreat with an odd smile on his face. When he finally turned to look at her, Avon's expression had shifted to one of wary, mischievious respect. 

"That was a masterful intercession, Seven. Thank you."

She tilted her head. "I merely wished to avoid unnecessary conflict."

He gave her one of those brilliant grins that seemed to be such an integral part of his non-verbal vocabulary. "Indeed. And I'm grateful for it." 

He moved back to his seat, with its abandoned spread of circuits and components, and folded himself gracefully into it. Seven followed the motion with a surprised burst of appreciative interest, a fact which didn't escape its subject's notice, and if his next smile was less dazzling, there was a warmth in it that more than made up for it. He gestured for her to retake her own seat, and took her hand as she moved forward to lower her graciously into it. Seven blinked at the gesture, and blinked even more as his other hand reached up to gently trace her augmented ear, brushing softly over her lips as it retreated. Avon merely smiled.

"If you are truly uninterested," he murmured, "then say the word, and I will leave you with my apologies. If, on the other hand, you are not disturbed by this, then I believe I would like to leave you with rather more."

She looked at him oddly, tilting her head and saying the first thing which came to her, before she could think to check the impulse. "You do not believe in modesty, Kerr Avon, do you?"

He let out a startled laugh at that, almost dropping the hand he still held, before he changed the motion, bringing it to his lips to press a curious kiss against her palm. She shivered slightly at the sensation, and the corners of his eyes creased with warm humour.

"I have never understood why it should be necessary to hide your abilities simply to make others feel better. One would think it would be more reassuring for them to know that you know what you are doing. Don't you agree?"

"Should I?" she responded, though that was indeed more or less what she had always thought. She wondered briefly if this conversational ... game ... was what people refered to as 'flirting'. Probably not.

Avon leaned in, that smile still playing quietly over his expressive mouth. "Well now, you should do nothing you don't feel like doing," he murmured softly, and even Seven realised that, under the circumstances, that constituted a definite invitation. So she closed the remaining distance, and attempted to kiss him. Their noses bumped, and she pulled back, suddenly uncertain, but Avon simply laughed lightly and laid his hand gently along her jaw, moving it slowly up to cradle the back of her head, his thumb brushing softly over the spiderweb of circuitry at her ear, and guided her back into the kiss.

The sensations startled her, momentarily, and she worried for a moment about her obvious lack of expertise, but Avon didn't seem to mind at all, and as she relaxed she reflected that it was indeed rather reassuring to realise that her partner quite obviously knew what he was doing.

Neither of them noticed that, over in a corner by the bar, a blond pilot, his best friend, and a mousy thief were grinning madly at them over the triumphant chink of glasses.


End file.
